I Like You, I Love You
by Ros3bud009
Summary: Gift fic for MammaSass on dA, request for America/Canada with Canada missing being around his brother. Based off of the vocaloid song "I Like You, I Love You."


Matthew rapped on the door quietly, hoping it was soft enough that if his presence wasn't wanted at the moment the sound wouldn't disturb his brother too much, but was still loud enough that he would be noticed. From beyond the door nothing seemed to happen for a moment, and Matthew found himself bickering with himself as to whether to knock again in case the other hadn't heard or to take it as a signal to leave. The desire to not be a bother won out – as it usually did – and the quiet nation was about to leave when from beyond the door Alfred called, "Its open you know!"

Matthew swallowed hard before turning the doorknob and entering the room.

As much as he hoped maybe today would be the day, he highly doubted it.

For quite some time now the Canadian had wanted to be closer with his brother to the south. Which wasn't to say they weren't close; as far as brothers went, they had it pretty good. Other than for that rocky time when the two of them were caught up in Arthur and Francis's constant fights and Alfred was pulling away and trying to drag Matthew with him, they got along well. Certainly they got on better than Alfred got along with any of their other southern brothers and sisters.

Rather than that, Matthew simply wanted to physically be around his brother. When they were young, upon discovering one another they were practically inseparable. They played together, slept together, gagged together when they found their "parents" doing anything unmentionable… But now they were lucky to say hi in the hallway at meetings.

He knew deep down that the desire to be around his brother also involved some deeper feelings that were certainly not all that brotherly; but he tried his best to ignore them. Surely that would only make things worse.

But as much as he wanted to be around his brother, he had the stronger desire to not bother the other nation. In fact, by nature he hated to inconvenience anyone. More often than not he would have whims of wanting to talk to Alfred, but as soon as he had the phone to his ear and heard it start to ring he would panic. What if Alfred was in a meeting? What if he was eating? What if he was finally sleeping, which he didn't do enough of as it was? Or what if, quite frankly, Alfred didn't want to talk at all and was just going to act polite? The thought killed the Canadian every time, resulting in him stuttering about something silly before excusing himself for being ridiculous and hanging up.

When they would meet in the hallway Matthew would try to gather up the strength to do something. He couldn't come right out and just say that he wanted to be around Alfred. That would be awkward. So he would come up with little excuses. But, regardless of how well he planned it out, something downright idiotic would come out of his mouth. Once he even asked Alfred if wanted to play solitaire with him, if he wasn't busy of course.

Alfred had laughed and reminded him that solitaire was a one person game.

Matthew spent the rest of his day with his face in his hands, feeling sick to his stomach with embarrassment.

Some of his other attempts weren't so bad. He would ask Alfred if was hungry and wanted to go eat, or if he wanted to go for a run, or if he simply wanted to just go take a quick coffee break.

The problem was that he always ended his invitations with a stammered "If you're not busy right now," and there lay the problem. Alfred, as the United States of America, was _always _busy these days. Ever since that dark September day he had busied himself with protecting his country, a war, arguments with Mexico about his people immigrating in, a catastrophic hurricane, another war, debt up to his eyeballs, a presidential election which seemed to start two years before the actual elections even occurred, a recession, a political party slowly tearing at its seams, healthcare reforms… the list just seemed to go on and on. He was busier than he had been during the Cold War, and there wasn't anyone to blame it on this time.

And so Alfred would laugh and scratch his head, admitting that he did have some things that he probably should consider doing, and before he could get another word out Matthew would apologize, wish him luck and race away. Sometimes Alfred would call out to him to wait, but the Canadian refused to be a burden on his brother.

But for the past week Matthew found himself staying up later and later just worrying and thinking and moping and slowly falling deeper and deeper into depression. He wanted to be with his brother _so much._ He loved Alfred more than anything else in the world, and even if he hadn't ever even considered admitting those feelings it never stopped him from wanting to talk with him, to laugh with him, to feeling his arm thrown around his shoulders and see that big, goofy smile and—

--and now more than ever he realized that his heart was breaking.

The night before he found himself invited into Alfred's office he decided that something had to change. For the first time ever, he considered just coming out and telling his brother the truth.

And now here he was, walking into the same room as Alfred, and his heart was racing. Well, that and his chest felt tight and his stomach was doing somersaults and if his face wasn't red yet it soon would be. Frankly, he figured he looked like a mess and that only made him feel all the worse.

But when he found the small bit of courage to look up and saw Alfred beaming at him from where he sat at his desk, despite all the fear and turbulence in his head, he felt happy. No matter how tight and pain-filled his chest felt, that smile seemed to squeeze into his heart and make it expand, pushing his chest out until it was filled with only his swollen heart.

Yes. Today had to be the day. No matter how scary it was, this wasn't something he could continue to hide anymore.

"Hey Mattie, what's up? Did you need something?" Alfred asked as he pushed his glasses back into place. His eyesight seemed to vary from year to year, and this year it seemed that he had been becoming progressively more nearsighted, so while he needed his glasses otherwise, whenever he worked on paperwork he'd let them slide down his nose so he could see over them. This wasn't something most knew, and was such a minor detail that most would never notice. But Matthew knew, and he loved that he did.

This wasn't the time for that though, Matthew thought, and with a gulp he worked up enough courage to stammer, "I just wanted to, uh, talk about, er, well, something, with you, if you're—"

"I'm never too busy to talk," Alfred stated, smiling brighter when his brother looked at him, startled. "Come on, you always add 'if you're not busy.' You really think I hadn't noticed?"

"I, well, I dunno, I just didn't want--"

"I know." That smile, oh _that smile_. So bright and sure and full of courage. For that moment all Matthew wanted was to take some of it, just a small bit, any at all would do, to push him forward. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweating and his chest felt like a balloon, growing out while a small child was squeezing against it, increasing the pressure on his ribs to the point where it felt like they would break.

For Matthew, this _was_ a breaking point; he was stuck on a fence, looking back on the well worn place he had grown up in and paced so many times it was turning to mud, while glancing briefly at the other side, wanting desperately to know what lay there but never being able to make out the details. Would he sink into the mud of the life he had lived all this time, would he jump into the unknown future, or would he simply continue to totter on the sharp edge of this fence?

But this was nothing to Alfred. The other nation was at ease, relaxed, and unaware. And it was no wonder. He didn't know about the sleepless nights. He didn't know about the ever deepening pit of despair Matthew found himself falling back into. He had no idea of how these feelings had been piling themselves up for years inside him, and how this was the tipping point.

For Alfred, no doubt, it was just another day in the office.

Matthew envied his brother for this.

And so he opened his mouth to find nothing could come out. Fear had bound him to the spot, gone in and tangled up his vocal cords, shortened his breath, all to keep him from doing it. Finally he closed his mouth and glanced down at his feat.

The office chair creaked and Matthew could see the other's shoes on the ground in front of him. He glanced up for what he had thought would be a moment, but found himself entranced. There stood Alfred, ever heroic, brave, and confident to the point of idiocy, looked at him with the darkness of fear shadowing his gaze. Not just fear, but curiosity, confusion, worry, and some other indistinguishable emotion.

Maybe Matthew wasn't alone on the fence.

"Mattie," Alfred started, his hand raised as if to place it on his brother's shoulder but paused in midair. With a brief streak of reckless abandon the hand settled on his shoulder, and squeezed ever so lightly. "You wanted to talk, right? What's wrong?" And there, again, was the fear. Was Alfred worried about him?

Perhaps that reckless abandon had transferred through the hand on his shoulder, because Matthew finally nodded and stammered, "Yes, um, I just… I want to be with you more."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"How could I?" Matthew inquired. "You have so much to do, and it's not like the old days when we lived together like a family. I don't want to be a burden to you." He cursed silently as tears threatened to escape, but he held them back; he wanted to be stronger than that. Matthew had already walked into fearsome waters, so he mentally braced himself to go for broke and just dive right in.

"A-and I, I have more to say," he stated before Alfred could reply. The American just nodded and watched him as he tried to piece together a coherent sentence. "I, well, that is, I—er, um, what I mean is – I'm sorry, just give me a second." He took a deep breath, and tried again to link the words. They were there, flashing in his mind like a neon sign, but it was as if his vocal cords had gone blind and couldn't read what he wanted to say.

"Matt--"

"No, please!" Matthew interrupted, "Just wait, just give me a minute, please, I…" The hand on his shoulder squeezed comfortingly again, and with a sudden burst of fear and courage all wrapped up into one Matthew practically cried, "I like you! I _love_ you!"

He felt worse than before, and tried to pull away as he stammered out apologies, but with a squeak found himself pulled against Alfred's chest. Matthew would have been overcome with embarrassment as he noticed his tear ducts had failed him and water streamed down his face, but found he couldn't care enough he noticed something.

He could feel the distinct beating of Alfred's heart against his cheek; his warmth seeping into his skin; his breath skirting across his ear.

Matthew had no idea what lay before him, but in that moment he knew something was changing.

With his brother, he could handle it.


End file.
